Well hors'd, well clad-a rich and shining train. 30
Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear,
The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.
In the main battle, with his flaming crest,
The mighty Turnus tow'rs above the rest.
Silent they move, majestically slow,
Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.
The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,
And the dark menace of the distant war.
Caïcus from the rampire saw it rise,

35

Black'ning the fields, and thick'ning through the

skies.

Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls:

40

"What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?

Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears, And pointed darts! the Latian host appears."

Thus warn'd, they shut their gates; with shouts

ascend

The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:

For their wise gen'ral, with foreseeing care,
Had charg'd them not to tempt the doubtful war,

45

Nor, though provok'd, in open fields advance,

But close within their lines attend their chance. 50

Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command,

And sourly wait in arms the hostile band.
The fiery Turnus flew before the rest:

A piebald steed of Thracian strain he press'd;

54

His helm of massy gold; and crimson was his crest.

With twenty horse to second his designs,

An unexpected foe, he fac'd the lines.

"Is there (he said), in arms who bravely dare.

His leader's honour and his danger share?"

Then spurring on, his brandish'd dart he threw, 60 In sign of war :-applauding shouts ensue.

Amaz'd to find a dastard race that run

Behind the rampires, and the battle shun,
He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes,

And stops at ev'ry post, and ev'ry passage tries. 65
So roams the nightly wolf about the fold:

Wet with descending show'rs, and stiff with cold,

He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain (His gnashing teeth are exercis'd in vain);

And, impotent of anger, finds no way

70

In his distended paws to grasp the prey.

navy

75

lies

The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs
Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams.
Thus ranges eager Turnus o'er the plain,
Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain;
Surveys each passage with a piercing sight,
To force his foes in equal field to fight.
Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies,
Where, fenc'd with strong redoubts, their
Close underneath the walls: the washing tide
Secures from all approach this weaker side.
He takes the wish'd occasion, fills his hand
With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.
Urg'd by his presence, ev'ry soul is warm'd,
And ev'ry hand with kindled fires is arm'd.
From the fir'd pines the scatt'ring sparkles fly :
Fat vapours, mix'd with flames, involve the sky.
What pow'r, O Muses, could avert the flame,
Which threaten'd, in the fleet, the Trojan name?
Tell: for the fact, through length of time obscure,
Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.

80

85

91

'Tis said, that, when the chief prepar'd his flight,

And fell'd his timber from mount Ida's height,

The grandame goddess then approach'd her son,
And with a mother's majesty begun:

95

100

"Grant me (she said) the sole request I bring,
Since conquer'd heav'n has own'd you for its king,
On Ida's brows, for ages past there stood,
With firs and maples fill'd, a shady wood;
And on the summit rose a sacred grove,
Where I was worshipp'd with religious love.
These woods, that holy grove, my long delight,
I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.
Now, fill'd with fear, on their behalf I come;
Let neither winds o'erset, nor waves intomb,

The floating forests of the sacred pine:
But let it be their safety to be mine."

Then thus reply'd her awful son, who rolls

105

The radiant stars, and heav'n and earth controuls:
"How dare you, mother, endless date demand, 110
For vessels moulded by a mortal hand?

What then is fate? Shall bold Æneas ride,
Of safety certain, on th' uncertain tide?

Yet, what I can, I grant: when, wafted o'er,

The chief is landed on the Latian shore,
Whatever ships escape the raging storms,

At

my command shall change their fading forms To nymphs divine, and plough the watʼry way, Like Doto and the daughters of the sea."

To seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore, The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore, And Phlegethon's innavigable flood,

And the black regions of his brother god..

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120

He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod. And now at length the number'd hours were come, Prefix'd by fate's irrevocable doom,

When the great mother of the gods was free

126

To save her ships, and finish Jove's decree.
First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung
A light that sign'd the heav'ns, and shot along: 130
Then from a cloud, fring'd round with golden fires,
Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs;
And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds,
Both hosts, in arms oppos'd, with equal. horror
wounds:

"O Trojan race! your needless aid forbear; 135